


Deadra's Dovahkiin

by MatieskiTheMistake



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anyway y'all can roast me for doing this absoloute monstrosity of the english language, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatieskiTheMistake/pseuds/MatieskiTheMistake
Summary: Basically the Sanguine quest but with 20 year old absolute cinnamon roll, Dovahkiin Soren, who can't hold his alcohol for shit. I also have Absoloutely No Idea on how many drinks it takes to get drunk, as I am a total lightweight as well as a complete black out drunk. Anyway, I have no idea when I wrote this, so enjoy.TW: dub-con
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Sanguine
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Deadra's Dovahkiin

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that since elves live a super long time, their supposed age when their brain stops developing is like 30-40? Which means that the beginning of their "adulthood" is somewhere like 25-30? (If we go off of modern day humans, that is, and comparing the physical maturity vs mental, its all very cool) so.technically, if Soren were a human, he wouldve been between 17-18. And his year is every other, by the by. I thought you should know, just to be a little less triggered

"M-May I come closer?"

I nervously fidget, rubbing the soft petals on the staff, glancing between it and the Dremora I had just _summoned._ It- well, I guess they, or he- looks at me, black eyes slowly dragging over random spots, cuts in my robes from the damn rose bushes down the mountain.

They nod. Was that a yes to my question? Probably.

Hesitantly, I scoot forward, shakily grabbing the side of the tent and crouch-walking out. Their eyes scan me again, looking eerily menacing, standing in front of my temporary fire. I slowly stand, looking over their features in wonder.

Their black skin has lines of bright, bloody red, and their horns. _Oh,_ their _horns._ The two small sets of horns gracefully adorn their forehead, shining almost orange, though I know they're black, they look polished and absolutely _beautiful._ Like a small dragon's. A third set peeks out from in their hair.

Reaching forward to touch them, suddenly they move, pulling a paper from the inside collar of their Daedric armour. The yellow parchment looks almost see-through as they hold it out to me, and my hand rockets back to my chest.

"For- for me?"

They nod, stoically holding the folded paper out closer to me. Gingerly, I take it, unwrapping it to read the large and beautiful script.

_Soren,_

_As an apology, here's your very own Dremora_ [,? Small dot of some sort, maybe ink splatter] _Kynval. He'll be loyal till the very end! Use him wisely, he can only stick around for about an hour._

 _-Sammy_ (At the end of the 'y', its either a flourish or a slip, but it is elongated slightly further than necessary after the curl.)

_P.S. Sorry for making you cry. And for giving you the drunken opportunity to make a fool of yourself, hope this makes up for it, Little Champion!_

_P.P.S. If your people are still after me, tell them I'm sorry? And that the bruises still havent healed, if that makes them feel better. Sorry!_

Oh, yeah. Sammy, Sanguine. The Daedric Prince. That... _Ahemed_ with me. And I babbled like an idiot in front of. And Brynjolf caught me with. And Saffire almost murdered. And they had both literally _pledged_ to catch while they dropped me off at Ivarstead earlier this evening... Oh, dear.

"Hey there, you look like someone who can hold a drink!" Someone claps their hand on Soren's shoulder, and he turns around to see who. A Breton in a fur cloak stands with two tankards in one hand, looking excited.

The Bee and Barb bustles energetically, packed on this nice summer night. All doors open, people flow freely to the indoor and outdoor seating areas with drinks and food alike. The seat next to Soren is the only one empty inside. Brynjolf watches on cautiously with a practiced uninterested gaze.

"W-who? Me?" Soren points again to himself, looking shocked. The most alcohol he's ever had was the homemade orcish moonshine that Sven _swore_ was made and proscessed correctly. Like Faendal, he was completely drunk after just a few bottles, while the stupid Nord drank the rest of the barrel. (And if Sven was the only one who couldn't remember the previous night, and the only one with a hangover, then that was none of Soren's business...)

"Yeah, you! Say, what do you think of a little friendly competition for a staff, huh?" The man sets the mugs down, calling over Talen-Jei.

Soren perks up at the mention of a Staff. His might have been... Broken.. InthedoorofBleakFallsBarrow. And he needs a new one, but enjoys hoarding his money. Its shiny, okay?

"Oh! Uhm, sure?"

The man laughs out, getting up into the bar stool and clapping on Soren's back.

"That's the spirit! Your finest drinks, please, and keep 'em coming!"

Soren nervously scratches his cheek with his finger as Talen-Jei distractedly sets down two more large tankards, balancing another tray full of food and ales. Brynjolf stands tensed, ready to intervene. The man taps the mugs confidently.

"Let's have a few wagers," his gruff voice exclaims calmly, "I bet that you could beat me in the drinking contest!"

"Me? No way, Mister. I don't think I can hold that much liquor. I'm pretty lightweight!"

"Sure you can. The rules are simple! You drink a full tankard, and then so do I. We repeat, and whoever's left standing wins the staff and competition!"

"Oh, uh- Okay!" Soren hesitantly takes a tankard, gently sniffing it. He takes a tentative sip.

"Not like that! You've got to throw it back, unless you want to lose!"

He nods, taking back the tankard and raising it to his lips. Chugging slowly, Soren tries not to spill all of it, careful not to tip it back too far before he was ready. Wincing, he finishes it after a few tense seconds, setting the tankard on the counter. Soren coughs, tapping his chest with his fist to relieve the burn down the back of his throat. The thin tunic doesnt do much to protect his chest from the onslaught of pounding, but he's desperate for some air. Coughing, he sways.

"Holy- Holy crap!"

The man gases down to where the shirt slips past his collarbone. Brynjolf glares, arm inching down to his dagger. Suddenly, the man joins in on the patting as Soren wheezes.

"There you go! My turn!" The man easily knocks back the entire tankard, slamming it down as well, exhaling deeply.

"What is- what is this stuff?" Soren coughs again, reaching for a second one, determined to win. It tastes sickly sweet, with a small, fizzy tang, but burns on the way down his esophagus. A _lot_ stronger than the moonshine! He can already feel the alcohol attacking his metabolism.

"Their finest drink! Didn't ya hear me?"

Quickly, Soren takes back the second drink. He tips it a little too far a little too soon, small drips coming around the rim of the tankard and down his chin. The man watches with an amused gaze, trailing the little streams past Soren's chin and Adam's Apple.

Saffire slides up next to Brynjolf, quickly catching on to what Brynjolf assumes the man is doing. She growls quietly.

Soren sways in his seat, setting the second back on the counter. The man smiles.

"A little easier the second time around! You've got the gyst of it, now. I'll go again!"

The man drinks all of his in less than three seconds. Soren now watches in awe as the alcohol quickly settles in, thanks to his... Extra metabolism. Sitting for a moment, he blinks as the first and second drinks' burn slowly dies down.He sways again, trying to tap the man on the shoulder and just barely missing.

"How do you drink it like water?? Thats cool. Still," he drawls, narrowing his eyes slowly as he raises his eyebrows, "not as cool as a dragon, but they're bretty frikin cool, so, so you have the benifit of the doubt!"

Soren grabs the next tankard with a sureness only a drunk man could have, and knocks it back, not quite as fast as the man, but a second less and he could have. When he sets it down, he wheezes, leaning back as far as he could in his chair. Saffire looks decently concerned for the young man, and Brynjolf has his Elven dagger unsheathed, tapping it against his bicep instead of lunging for the Breton.

Mauricio pales, slowly taking his bread and ale out the door as fast as he could. He's still on the line for flirting with Soren after he found an amulet of Mara (and used it for restoration, not marriage, he _is_ a mage, after all).

"How can _I_ not be cooler than a dragon? I think I'm _very_ cool." The man holds a hand to his chest, gesturing with a tankard that he just about drowns in. Soren rocks forward, hands on the bar. Its been all of ten minutes from the first drink, and the elf is _piss_ drunk.

"Well, dr'gons are perddy cool, yeah? I mean, they can breath _fire,_ or, or, or, like, become a spec- specker? I think- ether.. being, and like that's so cool, because I doubt you could do that with a single word, right? Like, its _feiim,_ " Though Soren may have quietly, and drunkenly slurred, the word, it still takes effect, turning him translucent blue for about twenty seconds, "and its a really cool word. They can- can shoot ice from their mouths like-" Soren holds the back of his hand to his mouth, making a claw hand with it. He furrows his brow and quietly roars, leaning back almost a little too far before swaying forward, and latching his hand on the arm of the man. The man watches, mirth in his eyes as he quietly laughs at the antics of the young elf.

"And, oh, and they can fly! Oh, what I co- would- give to just.. Fly. It's gotta be so free, like, theyre so high up in the sky, and bandits- and theives, and as-assassyies can't attack them on the roadside because they're in the _sky,_ and I think that would just be so cool to fly, I mean, or to have horns! Orcs have horns! But most just have the little.. Lil' teeth things. Oh, Daedra! They h-nave horns! Not all of them, I mean. But some are very pretty, even wifout the horns!"

Brynjolf pauses, because Soren hadn't ever said anything about assassins attacking him, only the occasional bandit and stray theif. He'll have to talk with Astrid. Saffire glowers, she'll have to send along guards with Soren the next time he heads out of town.

The man interjects, clapping his hand over Soren's.

"What, like me?"

"Oh- oh no, no, mister, no offense, but have you _seen_ Lady Nocturnal? Or her _statues?_ What I would give to be _friends_ with her, shes so cool, shes like a dragon!" Brynjolf smiles softly. "Shes fierce, but she can be kind, and her standing stone... Wait, is it her standing stone? I never asked! Oh no, what if I've just been assuming and shes mad at me?! I don't want her to be mad at me! Then the guild will be sso sadd, because I'll bring bad luck! Mister, I gotta go apologize! Will you help me come apologize? Come on, Mister- I gotta- get, wait I'm sorry, what's your name, Mister?"

"What, little old me? I'm just Sam, Sam Guevenne."

"That sounds like Sangueení, like.. Like that pasta? Thats so cool! But, I- Oh! I am- I'm Soren, Mister Sammy, can I call you Sammy? Sammy is a nice nickname, so I'm gonna call you Sammy, okay? Mister Sammy we _gotta_ go apologize to Miss Lady Nocturnal! We gotta, so, come on, I gotta get my- my armour!"

Soren slips out of the chair, wobbling as the man does too. He latches onto the mans cape, unsteadily walking towards the stairs. The man steadies him, walking as if he hadn't drunk a day in his life. Weaving expertly though the tables, they get to the open floor, where Brynjolf finally steps in and intercepts them both.

He stares down the Breton, gently taking a hand and placing it on Soren's shoulder. Turning to him, Brynjolf softens considerably.

"Hey there, lad. What are you doing?"

"I'm- Mister Sammy and I are gonna go and get- get my armour, and then we're going to go apologize to Ma'am- Miss Lady Nocturnal, because I assumed the standing stone was hers, and I might have made her mad and I don't want her to be mad, so we're going to go apologize!"

"That's good and all, but have you considered that he isnt in on the secret?"

Quietly, "Oh."

Soren whips around to Sam, stumbling.

"I'm so sorry Mister Sammy! You can't come with me to say sorry!" He bows, clapping his hands together. He quickly stands up, hugging Sam. After a second, he holds Sam at an arms length. "I forgot! Not everybody is in on the secret, so I feel bad! I'm going to give you one of my secrets to make up for it, okay? I'm a dragon! Or.. I can- can dragon! Do dragon things! But I can't fly. And I dont have a tail. Or horns. Am I really a dragon? Oh, man. I want to be a real dragon, not just the crappy.. Crappy dragon words.." Soren looks down sadly. Brynjolf taps him on the shoulder, slowly pulling him out of reach of Sam, and talking slowly and quietly.

"Lad, all that talking is good, but I really feel that you shouldn't make any sort of decision while you're like this. Maybe wait until you're a little more sober before you go to Nocturnal's shrine. Or before you make any financial sort of decision, either. Remember how you told me where all your coin pouches are?" Soren nods fast. Very fast. He sways in a concerning manner. "This is why. Now, I'll put them all in your lockbox at the guild, and you'll get all of your gold back as soon as you're sober. Okay?"

"Okay, daddy."

Saffire wheezes, coughing while covering her red face in the background. Sam smiles as Brynjolf turns red and takes off all the coin pouches, setting them into a large one at his hip. When he pats it, Soren hugs him, too.

"Thanks daddy. Youre cool. I'm putting you next to dragons, okay? Dragons are cool. But you're cooler. Thanks daddy, youre cool. Thats cool." Soren, stumbling backwards (into Sam), throws a thumbs up at Brynjolf, who's red now settles over his face a little more.

Sam wraps his arms around Soren, tugging him into his chest. Soren, the non-heat-regulating, ice-cold young man, sinks into the warm furs, and relishes in the heat emitting through Sam's threadbare shirt.

"Alright, little Songbird! What did you say about that armour?" Sam guides Soren to the stairs, stepping up one at a time in pace with Soren.

Brynjolf watches after him, listening. He glowers a little at the receding figures.

"I have armour! You should see it, I got really cool armour. And robes, the robes are cool, too."

"Really? Hey, who was that back there? Your... dad?"

"Hes my daddy. Hes super cool. Cooler than you. Cool enough to be next to _dragons_. He helped me kill a dragon once, right in front of the palace! I felt bad for the dragon, but Brynjolf, thats my daddy's name, cuz hes like, my daddy, he helped me take all the scale and bone we could carry. It was cool!"

"That's nice that you bond with your dad!- er, daddy?"

Their voices slowly fade into the background for Brynjolf, and he sighs as he leans against the wall. He guesses he's on Dad duty for now (and hopefully he means father). The focus returns to the to males making their way to Soren's room.

Soren quietly blubbers on about something unintelligible involving dragons and claws and cloth, and Sam opens the door to his own room, sliding Soren and himself in before shutting and locking the door behind them.

He sets Soren, who's still talking, down on the bed, leaning him up against the wall. Soren holds onto Sam's shoulders, closing his eyes and whispering random things.

Soren relaxes for a moment, and Sam tries to move away. Instead, Soren pulls his arms around Sam's neck, resting their foreheads together. Sam glances at Soren's lips, before gently grasping his hips.

Sam crawls up on the bed, holding his hands on Soren's waist as his knees dig into the bedding below them. His eyes trail over every feature on Soren's face. The gentle curve of his cheekbones, his tiny button nose, the way his eyebrows are thin but defined, the hundreds of long lashes that stir with every breath Sam takes, and the way Soren's lips still mumble softly, how they look a gentle strawberry pink.

He can't help it.

"Your lips are beautiful, Songbird."

Soren's eyes crack open, the dilation of them as wide as an arrow's shaft. The striking blue is barely visible against his lids and pupil. He had only three tankards of the special stuff, such a lightweight.

"Thanks. Yours are cute, too. They look soft. Really soft.."

"I'm sure yours are softer. Wanna find out?"

Soren shrugs, lazily dragging his thumb up to Sam's lips, pressing gently at them. Sam parts them as he cups Soren's cheek, pressing a calloused finger on the soft skin of his cheekbone.

"Little bird, if the rest of you is as soft as this, I think I might just eat you up," he growls lowly, no venom in his husky voice.

Soren's breath shudders, and his eyes close against the breath on his lips. Soren leans forward, brushing his lips against Sam, once, twice, a third time. His lips are, in fact, soft, and not chapped like other mortals, and Sam's feel rough and sensual against Soren. Sam kisses Soren gently, but Soren parts his lips, slowly starting to copy Sam. Soren forgets entirely of what he was whispering about.

Sam takes it upon himself to move Soren into his lap, pushing him against the wall bodily. Soren gasps quietly as Sam digs his hips against his, shakily resting his forehead against Sam's neck. His fingers deftly move Soren's thighs around his waist.

"Are your ears sensitive, Songbird?" Sam breathes out against Soren's long Bosmer ears, watching as they shiver and twitch. Slowly, he runs his tongue against the upper cartilage, noting where Soren tenses and where he shivers. He bares his teeth, lightly biting the point of the ear, listening as Soren quietly breathes out a whine.

"I wonder how much of you is like that."

Soren moves his head back to the wall, exposing his throat as Sam moves down to his jaw, kissing lightly and breathily teasing him. Sam tugs down the wide collared tunic, loosening the ties on it as it exposes Soren's shoulder and collarbone. He smiles, burying his face in the crook of his neck as he lightly bites and pulls at the skin there.

He hears Soren moan out, and feels as he claps a hand over his mouth and curls around him. Soren's legs lock behind Sam, and he tries to pull him closer as he hugs him with a shaking body. Sam grinds up into Soren, hands blindly grabbing his waist and tugging, jerking him into him to get more friction against the elfling.

His mouth bites and sucks against more of Soren's skin, marking him with little spots of darker skin and a blushing red. He smiles at the way Soren reacts, and he pulls back, resting his forehead against Soren's. Soren blindly moves his lips forward, kissing Sam with as much fervor as he can muster, arms squeezing behind Sam's large neck. Breaking for air, Sam takes the chance to ask Soren for more.

"Little songbird, I want to touch you more. May I?"

Soren nods blindly, reaching for another hungry kiss. Sam furrows his brow, setting his hand against Soren's cheek.

"Soren, I need you to say it. May I touch you more?"

"Yes, please, mister Sammy, sir."

Sam finally continues, reaching out and kissing Soren as hungrily as he did him. Soren tries to copy him, but he can't keep up with the pace Sam set, feeling his tongue against his lips. He opens his mouth, feeling Sam slide his hand up into his black hair, feeling him pull at his scalp, take a fistful of hair and gently tug as he pushes himself closer to Soren. His mouth opens wider, and Sam's tongue darts in as their lips mold against eachother, attacking his own and greedily exploring his mouth. Soren moans, furrowing his brow as Sam pulls more of his hair and pulls away, saliva dripping from his tongue as he tries to follow after.

Sam's free hand comes up from his waist, sliding underneath Soren's shirt and spreading across his stomach, massaging the small muscle mass as it trails up, brushing his nipples. Soren sharply inhales, hand tightening on Sam's back as he rolls the bud between his fingers. He clenches his teeth around his lips as more sounds threaten to spill out. His back arches, and he finally cries out sinfully as Sam's mouth makes a mark on his neck.

"There you are, Songbird. Don't hide those noises from me, I take pleasure in knowing I do well, alright?"

Soren nods weakly as Sam begins his exploration down his back, feeling both hands slip into his trousers and past his loincloth, cupping his small and firm bottom. He groans quietly as Sam's fingers knead his skin, sometimes slipping down between his cheeks. Sam slides his hands out and around to the front, untying the string that keep his pants up and pulling it out of them completely, flinging it to the side behind them, burying his face once more in Soren's neck, delighting in the noises he recieves as he pulls the pants slowly past his hips.

"Let's get you undressed, and I'll show you something amazing," Sam whispers into Soren's pink and flushed ear. Soren nods as Sam pulls away, feeling the lack of heat and how it sends shivers down his spine. His hands shakily and quickly pull off his shirt, and he struggles getting it off his upper arms.

"The clasp- its there, mister Sammy. Get... Get it fer me?"

Sam pulls it off for him, the telltale click allowing Soren to wriggle the rest of the way out, and then snakes his fingers around the hem of his pants and the string of his loincloth. He tugs, getting it down Soren's thighs and past his knees before ripping it off the rest of the way. Standing back, his gaze travels up and down Soren, taking in every divet, every scar, freckle, birthmark, and bony area. He looks to where Soren is covering himself, smirking when he sees a small patch of pinkish skin. He simply sheds his fur coat, to reveal the rather worn white-yellow shirt, and loosens the sturdy twine of his leather pants.

Moving forward, he takes Soren's hands away from himself, and takes his hips, quickly moving his smaller form to the edge of the bed. As he kneels, he looks up at Soren, who's blushing profusely, all the way down to his chest. He smiles, breathing on his head, watching as he shivers and draws his hands up to his mouth.

"A-a-ah." He 'tsks'. "No hiding anything from me, Little Bird." Sam takes Soren's hands again, pulling them towards the back of his head as he takes Soren into his mouth. He glances up as Soren bodily shakes, gripping Sam's hair as he curls in on himself. Slowly, he bobs his mouth down further, setting his shoulders on the underside of his thighs and pulling himself closer, closing the final gap and burying himself in the hairless skin at the base. Soren chokes out a moan, his thighs tightening around Sam's head as his back arches inward.

"Oh-! S-Sam!" He cries out quietly, shaking as Sam slowly starts bobbing his head up and down again. Soren certainly wasnt a considerable length, but he was above average, and Sam couldn't care less about that, instead loving the sinful noises falling from Soren's mouth. His teeth gently graze his skin, before pulling away to accomodate Soren when he picks up the pace, to a rather inhuman setting.

Soren shakes for breath, and suddenly Sam stands, trying to get to the chair behind them. He cries out, clutching the hair on the back of Sam's head, putting a hand out to the steadily approaching wall as Sam backs up.

His hand meets it, but quickly it goes away as Sam finds the chair and sits in it, feeling his mouth plunge Soren deeper into his throat. Sam returns to the brutal pace, digging his blunt nails and fingertips into Soren's thighs as they tense up around him again.

"S-Sam! Plea-ease! I-!"

He shudders as he comes, right down Sam's throat, and shakes as he swallows all of it. Sam gently lets go of Soren's legs, popping off his length as he slowly slides down his front. The back of his knees are hooked in the crook of his elbow, and Soren's grip readjusted to his shoulders right as Sam lunged for his mouth. He dwarfs the smaller male, nearly three times his height and width.

The kiss is greedy, and Soren holds Sam tight against him, in a sloppy, heated fashion. He groans as Sam releases himself, seperating briefly for air, before reconnecting their lips in hungry passion. Sam's own length rubs against the bottom of his, until his much larger hand holds them both, and thrusts upwards.

"Unh!"

Soren breaks away, flushed and panting as Sam thrusts against him. Without a mouth to kiss, or the need to breathe, Sam lunges for Soren's neck. Sweet cries for Sam fall unbidden from Soren's mouth, and-

The door swings open, and Soren and Sam jolt. A very angry pair of thieves, with weapons drawn, burst into the room. Brynjolf takes one look at the sight of the two, and growls.

"Get off of him!"

Soren is unsure whether or not that order was for him, because he is currently the one on. Sam, however, blanches, because Saffire throws a dagger. At him. It does miss, although narrowly, and it encourages Sam to follow the order. That, or Saffire is much more accurate than she demonstrated she is, and _that_ is definitely more intimidating.

He sets Soren down on the bed, trying to quickly tuck himself back into his pants. Another dagger pushes him towards the only empty corner in the room.

Brynjolf grabs a blanket from the bed, wrapping it around Soren as he pulls the two away from eachother. He lifts Soren, taking him to the dresser on the other side of the room.

Once Soren is away, Saffire tunes into her inner rage, and rounds on Sam.

"What were you doing with him?! Soren is too young to even be thinking about doing anything like that!"

Sam, still stuffing himself back into his pants, struggles out of the chair, and into the corner. As soon as he's decent, he holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"He consented! He even undressed himself most of the way! He let go for a little while! How was I supposed to know how old he was?!"

"Because you should have asked, you prick!" Saffire throws the chair at him. "He was _DRUNK!_ "

Meanwhile, Brynjolf is getting Soren sweat-free with the blanket, trying to keep him decent. And questioning him. In an angry-but-calm manner. Angry at Sam, calm for Soren. Obviously.

"What did he do?"

"Hmm," Soren mutters, eyes half open, "He kissed me."

"And? What was he doing just now?"

"I don't know what its called," he grumbles, blinking long and slow. "Its like- hm. He did this." Soren leans forward, hugging Brynjolf (and trying to reach him, hes tall, dammit!), and burrowing his face into Brynjolf's neck. He gently kisses just below his jaw, and bites down gently, before he's quickly pulled away.

Brynjolf loses some of the calm. But not in replacement for anger, oh no! Soren is cute. Soren is old enough to consent (when sober). And now, Soren just tried to give him a hickey. But, Soren called him daddy, so rein it back in. Father figure (hopefully). Keep it in check, ignore the flush, question the _kid._

"I- ahem. Is that all, lad? Are you alright? He didn't force himself on you?"

"He-mmmm. Sorry, you're warm," Soren starts, leaning back against the wall. He closes his eyes. "He made me feel weird and fuzzy. I'm still fuzzy, though. He was nice. Sam was nice. Mhm."

Saffire throws a pillow at him. And then a candleholder.

"What did you do!? You didnt _rape_ him, did you?! You sick fuck!" She punctuates the fuck with a wooden bowl. That she threw.

"No! I didn't even go all the way! What is _wrong_ with you?!" Sam holds up a leg and an arm, protecting his torso and head from the plethora of items that Saffire has deemed good enough to throw. She moves on to the metal dishware on the nightstand. Sorry Soren, she thinks, but I'm beating him up.

"But you were still trying?!"

"Wha- No! I hadn't even asked yet!"

" _Yet!?_ "

Brynjolf pulls one of the tunics from in the dresser out, pulling it over Soren's head. The blanket beneath falls around Soren's waist, as he sticks his arms up and out the short-sleeved tunic (though, for Soren it falls well past his elbow). The neck of the shirt is wide enough that it falls off one shoulder.

It is then Brynjolf sees the hickeys. Well, the amount. Which is greater than one. Much greater. It is also then that the rage is greater than the calm. Or the arousal.

"Saffire," he calmly says, moving from in front of Soren, pointing at his neck. "You have my permission to kill him. I'll let Astrid know."

Saffire, glancing back at Soren, and also seeing the dozens of hickeys, slowly rounds on Sam.

"You sick _fucking_ _ **bastard**_. I'll have your head!" She unsheathes her other dagger, lunging at Sam.

"Wait! Stop!"

And then Sam turns into.. Well, Sanguine. (Just in time, too, because Saffire's dagger glances off of the stone-hard nail protecting his neck.)

Taller than Saffire by about two and a half heads, his red and black skin pops against the pale shirt he wears. His hair, now long and ebony, curls around multiple horns in an intricate hairstyle. His pants and shirt now pull at the seams, too small for his large, muscled torso, which greatly complements his biceps, (which are most likely larger than Brynjolf's head) and his thighs that are each bigger than both of Soren's combined (if he could remove his thigh gap!)

Soren could not see Sanguine's backside, but he was sure it was as muscled and defined as his front. Soren _could,_ however, see his front, and he could definitely see his _horns._

"Oh my lord... Are those _horns??_ "

And he was _very_ excited about it.

Brynjolf's shoulder was _not._ (It bruised the next day, much to his exasperation. Rune was _very_ curious about the gender of his... 'Partner'.)

Saffire quickly backed away from Sanguine, looking him up and down. She did _not_ have good experiences with Daedra. Not with Soren. (And there still were a _lot_ of Daedra encounters that he didn't even know about. She wanted to keep it that way.)

"I was just trying to have some fun! Let loose for a little while, you know? He's just a... A pent up ball of power and anxiety. He looked stressed, so I stepped in! Thats my whole thing," Sanguine says, still protecting his neck. Saffire did have her knives in a more defensive position, after all.

Brynjolf knew who this Daedric Prince was. Sanguine. Basically the one to go to for _anything_ to let you slip away from your worries, and one of the few to commonly interact with mortals. (A long time ago, he prayed to him for a little help with some alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Most of it was drugged, yes, but it _was_ rather fine alcohol.)

"Sanguine, Daedric prince of hedonistic revelry, debauchery, and passionate indulgences of darker natures? Ring a bell? He knows! With the red hair! Come on, please? I was just trying to get him to let loose for a little bit!"

Saffire shoots a dark glance at Brynjolf before slowly turning back to Sanguine.

"You have twenty seconds," she growls darkly, "To get a head start. And if you are still on Nirn before I get to thirty, I _will_ have you killed. Or better yet, do it myself. Is this clear?"

Sanguine nods, keeping his hands up.

Soren is still staring at the horns.

"As an apology-"

Saffire glares. "One."

Sanguine dissapears in a purple cloud, whirling like a vortex, that shings closed like a sword coming out of a sheath.

Or that could have been Brynjolf throwing his shoddy iron dagger from his boot. It gets halfway through the portal as it closes, leaving the handle to drop to the ground like a dead weight.

"He had _horns!_ "

Soren was still _very_ excited about the horns.

Sanguine also left a giant rose, with a large piece of paper simply reading 'Sorry!'

On the bottom edge there's a drop of blood. Brynjolf takes pride.

Ah, yes... _That_ Sanguine. ...Well, I can't just not talk to him after all that, wouldn't it be rude?

"Oh, well, would you be willing to tell him that I'm sorry, for all it's worth?"

The Dremora blinks, and nods slowly. ..His? hair slips past his larger horns, and rest on the smaller, more forward set. It looks very soft, but greasy? Like those people's hair that looks very shiny, but that's just because its very soft and silky, because its like, just barely done from air-drying.

...Like Sam's was when I ran my hands through it-

Aw, man! And now my face feels warm, and its suddenly that much colder! I really was comfortable by the fire, but now it just feels prickly to my skin.

But.. It really was nice. I almost regret that he didn't get to show me the surprise. Or maybe his daedra form was the surprise? Because I _was_ gushing about horns beforehand...

It was _really_ nice though. It doesn't feel the same when I try to do it to myself, considering I only have my hand, and not a freakin _prehensile daedra tongue._ That was also _really_ nice, when we kissed and he just... Gosh, what I wouldn't give to ask him about that.

"Please also tell him that.. Uh... It was.. Well, really nice, and I maybe wouldn't be too.. Uhm... Opposed... To doing it again," I push out. Yeah. That was a sentence. Right? A request? Hopefully?? I still want to apologize in person to him! "I have.. Many questions."

The daedra gives me a small smile, and suddenly, a noise like a rusty gate opening, a purple mist appears around him(?), and it expands. I wave goodbye, and he waves back, before the purple turns black and he completely dissapears.

Earlier in the day

The Dragonborn Safety and Protection council, and advisors, sat around the oval table in High Hrothgar, deathly silent.

Well, except for the furiously paced scribbling of the three other Graybeards, who do not speak. Safely, in the presence of other people, anyway.

Master Wuulfgard walks through a set of doors, closing them silently behind him. The room waits anxiously.

"I have sent the boy to replace the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. We have three days to reach verdict," he states, standing at the head of the table, lifting papers everyone had passed to him. "The Council is now in session," he declares, sitting.  
The room erupts into enraged chaos. A few statements are louder than the others.

"That damned Daedra! I knew we shouldn't have let Soren into the Blades," Delphine laments, assuming, yet again, that everything is her fault, "Now all of those Daedra are taking notice of him! What are we going to do?!"

Karliah growls. "Nocturnal should protect him from the other princes.. I have no idea why she isn't!"

"This is worse than the Molag Bal situation! He still doesn't know why I was gone for so long," Astrid complains. "I dont want to lie to the boy!"

"We need to kill that thing," Maven states. The room slowly quiets down. They can all agree on that one thing. Silence sits for a moment before, one by one, they get into action.

"I'll have a contract on him within the hour," Astrid replies, waving forth her husband.  
"I can get everyone in the Imperial Army after that bastard," Tullius glowers. Ulfric, not one to back down from a percieved challenge, replies with an order for his own forces.

"We will have everyone in the _Stormcloak_ army defending Soren against the demon day and night," Ulfric says, crossing his arms against his chest with a smug look. ...Although it does nothing to provoke Tullius, he does realize that is a good idea, and calls for Galmar.

Soon, everyone is talking, although at a much more sedated pace than earlier, getting contracts out, writing orders, preparing letters.

By the time everyone has finished every course of action they could possibly think of, Skyrim has hundreds of hawks flying about with word of a Daedra-Hunt.

...And Deplhine is stewing in her own anger, not doing a thing. Again.

So, if by the time they all depart from High Hrothgar three days later, Soren is none the wiser to the Imperials who begrudgingly ignore the Stormcloaks who follow him, or cannot hear the Assassins who scout ahead of him and watch his camp the following nights, or does not notice the way everyone in the towns he visit stand vigilant, then it is not of any importance.

But if he notices the way his small flask of honeyed ale is a little sweeter, or how the way the clovers in his porridge smell a little stronger, or the way the Rose curls into his touch as he walks, then it is of little consequence in the way he smiles when rereading the small, yellow note, hidden in one of his tomes next to a pressed petal.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly though Sanguine's Daedra form could snap me in half and I would thank him.


End file.
